Her Request
by EbonyIvoryy
Summary: How can he not smile in front of those faces? So supernal... So divine... Hohenheim/Trisha; Manga/Brotherhood-verse; little bits of fluff.


**A/N: **I've been wanting to write some Hohenheim/Trisha for a while now, though I'm not sure if I accomplished that task. I primarily wrote this to practice my imagery, so I hope I improved somewhat! Whenever I read back on my very early fics, I get so embarrassed at how awful I used to be! My grammar, amongst other things. The only reason why I didn't take those stories down is because it shows how much I have improved since I first started out as a fanfic author. I'm trying to enhance my vocabulary every day so I have new adjectives to use. Anyhow, enjoy the HOHENHEIM/TRISHA-ness~!

**Disclaimer: **I am not the magnificent cow mangaka we know as Arakawa. Thus, I do not own.

_~u~_

_**Her Request**  
><em>

* * *

><p>The scent surrounds him. The scent of a buttery stir, whipped to its fullest content. It soaks into the bed sheets—lingers in the air—nibbles at the translucent curtains like a moth. Such a smell arises into his dreams; but 'tis not strong. 'Tis so soft and light yet powerful in a significant way. It outlasts the heredity of his golden hair and topaz eyes. And the most splendid part about this fragrance? It was Trisha. Everything about the way it danced through his nostrils—it was so very... Trisha.<p>

With her creamy snow skin, her mutable hazel eyes; those peach-flavored lips and plush yet subtle figure. Just the word 'Trisha' alone made him swoon. The only thing that pleasured him more was the way _she_ said _his_ name.

"Van, dear..." the woman murmured as she awoke on her side; the first thing in her sight was a pair of honey irises.

She brought an ivory hand to his contrasting cheek—baking sans the softness she withheld—and rubbed her thumb in generous circles. His masculine fingers snaked around her wrist to return the contact, face baring a faint smile. Unfortunately, his smile was much different than hers. When he smiled, it was with melancholy. With a gloom cast upon him for centuries. It was a facial lie; a compromise of the mouth so others wouldn't grow precarious. When she smiled, however, it was like a storm had just cleared up, only to leave behind a breath-taking rainbow. For when those lips tilted upward, they had a magical affect. An affect that made Hohenheim feel he was no longer alone.

"Smile," Trisha requested oh-so-sweetly.

Every time she asked this of him, his response was always the same. A monotonous response—in a sad sense:

"How can I?"

_~u~_

The bright side of having children? You get to witness their growth. Both emotionally and physically, they learn something each and every day. As the weeks pass, the inches stack. Inch by inch, they were taller than yesterday. Children are like a flower—sweet, delicate flowers—and once they become adults, they reach their full bloom. Hohenheim has lived along side humans from young to old, but never has he recognized this until his two sons came into the world.

Grass was always rich with a mildewy coat in Resembool. Green to its fullest content. If there was grass a tinge greener, we would have to re-write the phrase: 'grass is always greener on the other side'. Hohenheim felt as if he were bathing in this pool of vegetation, lying down blissfully in the grass with his profound family. The mildew suds soaked into his caramel scalp, creating a wondrous concoction.

He admired his first-born son's hands as his digits danced upon them... Evermore creamy. It was like sticking his fingers in a bowl of white frosting. Little Edward giggled while his father tickled every spot on his sensitive squeamish body. His complexion matched that of Hohenheim's—a dainty light tan; luxuriously moving orbs and a fortune of hair. So golden and pure—like his heart in a striking pulse.

With little Eddie on his broad chest, he peered to the side of him, where Trisha sat gracefully, cradling their month-old baby in such an angelic fashion. He certainly had to thank Pinako for being their midwife—they couldn't have made it through those powerful hours of labor without the woman. Not to mention that Pinako's own son had a daughter of _his_ own now.

Van and Trisha's second-born son yawned in his mother's arms—his pink and squishy gums shining through. Little Alphonse, like his older brother and father, had a magnificent golden texture of heavy Xerxes heritage. However, little Al's features differed in that of his eye shape, as well as his nose and lips, which mirrored Trisha's. The strands growing thick on his newborn head were the perfect medium between the Elric chestnut color, and Hohenheim sandy color.

Alas, there was one thing that bothered Hohenheim the most. One thing that broke his heart and sent him into an angsty state. He'd be able to see his children grow, sure... But they would eventually grow older than their own father. They'd cock an analytical eyebrow at him, wondering what was wrong with the monster. And that was for certain.

Now, he refused to look them in the face. His masculine, rough hands before him; his eyelids slid halfway in a tremor. The elegant woman beside him sighed. She knew that expression; a countenance so harsh and detached. Placing the younger baby beside the elder one, they began to interact with an already-close-bonded brotherhood. Hohenheim glanced up from his hand, hating himself for daring to look at his boys'.

"Smile," Trisha requested oh-so-sweetly... As she always did.

The father clenched his teeth and swallowed back any bitter responses. "How can-"

"How can you _not_ smile in front of these faces?" she interrupted, gesturing toward Ed and Al, who both murmured gobbily-gook baby language to each other.

He said nothing more. For the first time in his aching moments with Trisha, he obeyed her command, and brought his mouth up in a liquid smile. Little Ed clapped and let out a tiny laugh. His daddy hatred had not been born quite yet. Like his mother, he enjoyed to see a smile from the man—even if the man didn't mean it.

Well except, this one time, he really did mean it. After all, he couldn't help but smile in front of those faces. So supernal ... So divine... How could the emperor of Xerxes compare? As for the Homunculus in the flask, he would have to look up what a _real_ God was in the dictionary. Or take a visit to Resembool for a secondhand look...

_**Fin**_


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